Dave Gordon - TIP

Brian would not look at his world through the eyes of his president, or his manager, or his co-workers saying how sorry they were to see him go. Brian would look at his world through the eyes of his family and those he loved, and those that loved him. He would take control of his own life. He had 10 weeks of severance to find another place where he would be respected and valued. But, Brian realized, only if he valued himself first.

Two weeks after Brian was escorted out of the building he had called home for 10 years, he found himself back at the bar called Crossroads.

Brian walked in and found a seat in the middle of the bar. He was looking for Jack, but instead there was a pretty woman with long dark hair behind the bar. It was fairly busy for a Wednesday happy hour, and Brian had to wait about five minutes before she could get to him.

“Hi,” she said. “What can I get you?”

“How about a Corona?” he responded.

She grabbed a Corona out of the cooler and popped the top.

“Do you want to run a tab?” she asked.

“Umm, no thanks. I won’t be staying long. Just wanted to stop by and see the bartender, Jack. Is he working tonight?”

“He is, but not coming in till later. And he’s not just the bartender. He owns the place. If you can hang around, he’ll probably be in at eight.”

“Actually, no, I have to get home. I just wanted to thank him for something.”

Brian took a swig of the beer.

“Did he send you a TIP?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Thought so, that’s what people usually thank him for. Either that or it’s a sarcastic thank you for getting them plowed until they can’t see straight. Which one did he send you?”

“You’re fired.”

“Never saw that one.”

“Well, I guess he sent it because I was actually fired.”

“Sorry to hear that,” she said.

“Thank you,” he responded. “I had an interview in the area today which went okay, but I’ve got a really good interview tomorrow, which is why I can’t hang around tonight. I wanted to thank him for giving me something to hold on to. Changed my perspective, if you know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “See that guy over there?” She pointed to a well-dressed man talking to a group of other well-dressed men and women who looked like they just walked off the cover of a Brooks Brothers catalog. “That guy was a waiter here three years ago. Now he owns his own catering company. Used to talk to Jack all the time about wanting to own his own business.”

“See that woman over there?” The bartender pointed to a woman sitting at a table near the back of the bar. She was talking with a group of other women, and they were all laughing. “She’s been one of Jack’s followers since he started his newsletter. They’ve all been followers. They all come in to see him, and they always bring big crowds with them. Which is why I love working for him. There’s always a crowd. And that means big tips for me. By the way, that woman is one of the partners at the biggest law firm in the city. When she met Jack, she was basically a functioning alcoholic on the verge of failing out of law school.”

Brian turned back around to face the bartender.

“I’m Brian,” he extended his hand.

“Kelly,” said the pretty brunette with the beauty mark on her right cheek. “Nice to meet you.”

Chris Conroy was the one who suggested they come in for that final drink. Brian had never been in this bar before that night, even though it was close to his office. Correction. His former office. The best way Brian would describe the bar would be upscale comfortable. Cushioned bar stools spaced nicely across the length of the long mahogany bar. Tables for groups to gather or eat at the far end, and a few couches towards the back in a lounge area. The music playing added to the energy, but it could barely be heard over the many conversations taking place. Maybe that was why it felt so comfortable. People were engaging with one another. They were enjoying each other’s company, having what seemed to be important conversations.

“So, since you can’t hang around, do you want me to leave Jack a message?”

Brian grabbed a napkin off the bar and wrote down his personal e-mail address.

“Tell him this is my new e-mail address, and he can send me whatever he wants. Also, tell him I’m the one singing a different tune. He’ll know what it means.”

“Will do,” she said as she put the napkin in a cup by the register.

Brian walked out of the bar. He stood on the sidewalk and turned back to face the building. He looked up at the bright blue and red Crossroads sign hanging over the doorway. Brian had a feeling he’d be back.

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